


By Cleavers and Meadowsweet

by TheMarvelousMadMadamMim



Series: This Spell We Cast [17]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Make up sex, TWWValentinesLemonFest 2019, day twenty eight, overcoming childhood conditioning, working through the tough moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 07:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21071393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim/pseuds/TheMarvelousMadMadamMim
Summary: Ada and Hecate have their first fight as lovers. And subsequently, their first victory in overcoming.For TWW Valentine Lemon!Fest.Day Twenty-Eight Prompt: Makeup Sex.





	By Cleavers and Meadowsweet

**Author's Note:**

> Well, my doves, this is the last entry in this series. It's been a joy and a pleasure, watching these two witches turn life into lemons. Thanks to everyone who has left kudos, given reviews, and/or reblogged.
> 
> For those keeping score at home: set during the second term of Mildred's third year. This was originally written before season three's big reveals, so we're just gonna continue ignoring the canon that happened then.
> 
> And away we go.

They are their mothers’ daughters, sometimes. Despite all the ways they have grown, separate and together, there are still moments when they react purely from their own DNA.

They’ve fought before, of course they have. You can’t deeply know someone for nearly twenty years and not have a few fights between you. Hecate Hardbroom knows that, feels the logic in such a position.

But they have never fought while being lovers before. Have never fought with more on the line than Hecate is willing to ever risk, more than she’s ever willing to relinquish, and regardless of the disagreement’s topic, all she can focus on truly is the deep roiling in her gut, hot and acidic and boiling with fear.

It doesn't help that this has been brewing for weeks now, slipping insidiously into their lives with shorter words, less time spent together, the near-constant undercurrent of tension, the growing number of nights that they do not spend in one bed or another, the physical frustration from the lack of intimacy only reigniting the psychological tension of their disagreements, only widening the divide. They're spinning, Hecate thinks, spinning out of control, spinning apart, and if she could force them back together, back to _right_, she'd do it til her fingers bled.

She has a will like no other, this much she knows. Another gift from her mother that can too often be a curse.

And like her mother, she’s never truly learned to translate fear and love into anything other than a weapon, her tongue sharper than any sword, faster than any gut-punch. She just wants to end this, to say whatever words will make the tension stop, will make Ada see that she is right, will stop this trainwreck from inevitably happening, to stop _them_ from unhappening.

But Ada is like her mother, too. She is not a woman given to ultimatums or commands, will not be cowed or cajoled into doing anything other than exactly what she thinks is right and best, no matter what dire consequences her deputy headmistress predicts. She digs her heels in, optimism too high to allow any other outcome.

It is important to note that their mothers would not be well-suited to a partnership of any kind, professional or personal. For Hecate’s warnings can come too close to sounding like admonishments and judgments, which only stoke Ada’s sense of self-doubt—and the blonde has learned to turn hurt into anger, another gift from her mother.

So Ada crosses her arms over her chest, tone crackling with frustration as she snipes back, “It is a matter of principle, Hecate. But please, feel free to tell me once again how awful my judgement is. After all, it’s been nearly a week since I’ve had a lecture on my apparent inability to make a decent decision _in my life_.”

Hecate’s eyes go wide with shock. She hasn’t missed the accusation in those words. Hecate’s throat clenches with a desire to shoot back fire and venom, to demand that the woman damn all her principles to hell, to _just once_ do this for Hecate—after all, she thinks she wouldn’t hesitate to put Ada above any morals she may actually possess.

But Ada isn’t making self-control easy. Ada Cackle can needle her like no other. Just the way she _looks_ at Hecate right now, mouth set in a petulant frown, defiance in every line of her face, just _daring_ Hecate to say something—and as always, Hecate never refuses an invitation from this woman, even when the event is as unpleasant as this.

“No,” Hecate points at her, voice low and filled with the tone she uses for wayward students, the one that snaps them to attention and nails them to the floor. “You will _not_ make this about my desire to keep—”

“To keep me from making another foolish mistake, as always. Because that is _exactly_ what this is about, Hecate,” Ada shoots back. She feels her heart sink to her toes, heavy and quick like a stone in water. Hecate’s entire body is simmering with frustration and goddess it _hurts_, it hurts to know that she’s the cause, because she’s too brash or too senseless or too whatever else Hecate thinks her in this moment. And that hurts, too—knowing Hecate finds her lacking, finds her less than, finds her faulty and failing. She leans into the hurt, deftly adding, “You can’t wash your hands and play the innocent, my dear, no matter how much you’d like.”

_Play the innocent._ As if Hecate is somehow at fault. The younger woman feels her blood spike. _Play the innocent._ As if this is all some game, some cruel manipulation on Hecate’s part.

Ada regrets her words as soon as they leave her lips, but she can’t pull them back, can’t push out the apology necessary to mitigate their damage. She looks up, sees the way Hecate’s shoulders rise as if she may just float off the floor, and she knows it’s too late.

“Ah, yes,” Hecate’s words come quickly now, sharp and flashing like knives. “Because it’s always me, isn’t it? Always me pulling you back, pulling you down, pulling you away from your own destructive tendencies because I’m somehow _always_ the one who has to say no to your grand schemes—”

“_Grand_ schemes? Do you even hear—”

“I _do_ hear, Ada—I hear you mustering up yet another round of righteous indignation because once again I have offended your pristine moral sensibilities with my mind-boggling sense of _rational logic_—”

“Rational.” Ada’s laugh is sharp and painful. She shouldn’t say it, she shouldn’t, she knows, but Hecate’s words have hurt and if they’d going to be critical then by goddess, she’ll unleash it all. “Living your entire life ruled by rampant paranoia isn’t rational, Hecate. It’s the very _definition_ of insanity.”

“Don’t you _dare_,” Hecate’s hand is moving, quick and cutting through thin air again. “Don’t you dare call me crazy for trying to stop this—to stop you from causing far more havoc than you are truly ready to endure.”

“Perhaps you underestimate me,” Ada returns coolly. Story of her life, really. She had thought Hecate was the exception, the one who saw truly saw her. But lately it’s been a constant barrage of lectures and warnings and oh-please-waits. Perhaps now that they’re something more, something deeper, Hecate has seen something that makes her less certain, makes her fear Ada, in a way. Perhaps Hecate has always felt this way, and the openness of their new intimacy makes her feel safer expressing those concerns.

She shouldn’t think that way. She shouldn’t think that maybe, Hecate has always felt this way. That doesn’t stop her doubtful mind from quietly suggesting it anyways, adrenaline too high to cage any fear. But she can count the days, just as easily as anyone, and she knows how long its been since Hecate has simply smiled at her, without that fearful thing dancing behind her eyes. She knows how many days have passed without their usual afternoon tea, how many nights have been spent alone and filled with worry.

Hecate gives a small laugh, edges dancing with near-insanity. She wars between a desire to ring the woman’s neck and kiss her mouth (or both). Oh, Ada. Her surety is both vice and virtue, strength and weakness. And all Hecate can do is barely survive the wave of fear this certainty brings, the heavy realization that Ada will not be swayed in this, that they’ll continue on this collision course full speed ahead.

And they will continue, together. That much Hecate knows. She won’t abandon Ada, she’ll be there til the bitter end. Quietly, she tries one more time, “Ada, please.”

Hecate’s small tone nearly breaks Ada, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair that the woman looks _like that_ and uses _that_ voice, knowing full well Ada can’t withstand such overwhelming softness. Ada pulls that feeling into her anger, keeps her voice low as she says, “Perhaps, for once, you’ll just have to trust me.”

It’s an awful, ugly move, and they both know it—because they both know that Hecate has trusted her, for years now, even in times when she probably shouldn’t have. Any weariness Hecate might have felt vanishes like flash paper over a burning candle, entire body enveloping in a hot anger.

“And perhaps, for once, _you_ could trust _me_,” Hecate’s voice is low, gravelly and shaking with hurt. “Perhaps, for once, you could look back on past instances and see that I have always been deeply invested in your continued survival, you—you—you stupid, _stupid_ woman.”

Oh, goddess, it’s too far. Hecate’s lungs shriek in pain, as if she’s just stabbed herself. Ada’s expression shatters and Hecate feels nothing but pure, hot fear.

She’s done it. She’s ruined it all. She’s pushed them past the point of no return, broken the unbreakable thing. She feels sharp pain in her cheeks and suddenly realizes her hands are clamped over her mouth, fingernails digging into her skin as if she could somehow pull back the words and bottle them up.

Ada hears an odd buzzing in her ears as she focuses on the sight before her. Hecate’s entire body is contracted, eyes wide and hurting. Ada’s own eyes are pricking with tears, and she feels stupid, exactly as Hecate thinks she is, because someone has said something mean and she wants to cry, how ridiculous does that make her?

But it isn’t just someone. It’s _Hecate_. And it isn’t just something mean. It’s one of Ada’s greatest fears—being seen as stupid and inept, particularly by this woman.

Hecate’s mind tumbles with a thousand different apologies, but her hands still haven’t uncovered her mouth. She’s never been good at apologies, has never felt she deserves the forgiveness they usually bring, and never thinks they can undo whatever damage they apologize for.

Especially this. She’s said something horrible, something cruel, something she doesn’t even truly believe, not really, not when it comes to Ada.

And yet the words don’t come. She stares, watches the blonde’s shoulders as they seem to shrink smaller and smaller, the weary way Ada turns her head slightly to the side, blinking back tears, and Hecate is still absolute stone, unable to do or say anything. She pushes her nails deeper into her cheeks, can physically feel it breaking the skin, and finally, the pain is enough to pull her into her own body again, to regain control and remove her hands.

* * *

They are not their mothers’ daughters, sometimes. In the ways that count, in the moments that matter more than any other, they are slowly learning to break the generational curse of pride and self-doubt.

Every fiber of Hecate’s body screams to flee, to transfer away until things are calmer and quieter, to give them both a chance to think and recover. But she won’t run away from this, won’t abandon Ada, won’t take a coward’s route in a paltry attempt to save face. There’s nothing worth saving, except this thing between them, their friendship, their love, their partnership.

So instead of stepping back, Hecate steps forward. Into the sticky hard stuff, the hardest work she’s ever done. She pushes herself to speak, to do something, anything to make this right again.

She does the thing her mother could never do: apologize.

“Ada.” Her voice is dull, flat, heavier than the air in the room. “Ada, I didn’t—”

“I know,” Ada answers quickly, but her words hold no conviction. She’s turned away now, moving to the window in the alcove of her office, even though it’s dark out and there’s nothing to see.

_Ada_. Hecate’s entire body aches and pulls forward, as if there’s some invisible string between them, reeling her back in. Ada doesn’t believe her, Ada doesn’t understand, Ada can’t look at her anymore and it’s all her fault.

The lamps along the outer wall are slowly lighting up, and Ada can barely see the little shadow that is Mildred Hubble, flitting down the stone outline. She had been so proud of Hecate, giving Mildred such a responsibility. An olive branch disguised as a punishment, because Miss Hardbroom was incapable of admitting when she was wrong to her students.

Ada had assumed it was a good sign. A sign of Ada’s influence in her life. Of them slowly softening into something more. It is now Mildred’s second term as lantern lighter, and yet Hecate is still as prejudiced and fearful as ever.

She closes her eyes as she considers that perhaps, their relationship has not been the best for Hecate. The woman seems more fearful, more on-edge, more prone to give in to her fear and anxiety, which in turn makes her more snappish, harsher with the girls.

Perhaps Ada is not good for her. The thought causes a physical pain in Ada’s chest. She loves the woman currently hovering across the office from her, wants nothing but Hecate’s highest good. And if being in a relationship like this only brought out Hecate’s lowest self, then…she can’t even allow herself to finish the thought. No, they are good together—aren’t they? Aren’t they stronger together, happier together?

She used to be able to answer that question with absolute certainty. Now, doubt makes her hesitate.

The sound of Hecate’s heels on the wooden floor makes her entire body charge with electricity. She can sense Hecate rounding the corner of her desk, coming to wait at the little steps that lead to the alcove.

Hecate’s stomach is actually trembling—she is fairly certain she might be sick, right here in Ada’s office. Either words or actual bile are coming, and she has to push herself to speak again, to painfully give birth to the fear that had been growing for so many months now, sharp and pushing against her insides, squirming and kicking and begging to be born and named and acknowledged.

“There will come a day when I can’t save you.”

Ada’s shoulders round inward from the shock of Hecate’s words, from the brokenness in her tone, the way her voice hitches with emotion and fear. She doesn’t turn around—_can’t_ turn around, can’t look at that face she loves and see the pain she knows is waiting there.

Hecate’s hands are shaking, her knees feel absolutely weak, but she pushes herself to continue. Ada needs to know, to understand. It’s the explanation she should have given half an hour ago, when the fight began, the thing she should have said that would have prevented the fight from ever happening in the first place. Too little, too late, as always. But still vital.

“It’s—every time we survive, the likelihood of us not surviving the next only increases,” Hecate’s voice warbles and she blinks back tears. “It’s simple numbers, really. And the more chances you take, the more I—I fear…”

She can’t finish the rest. _The more I fear losing you forever_—well, she’s already done that by being so unnecessarily cruel. No need to worry over that, anymore.

The way Hecate’s voice shatters on the word _fear_ makes Ada start crying. Because she understands the rest, the part Hecate couldn’t bring herself to say aloud, as if it were some fateful curse. And she _hears_ the fear in Hecate’s tone, can feel it radiating off the woman in waves—she knows that Hecate fears they’ve already lost to each other, and her terror only reminds Ada of her own.

Ada is shivering from her tears, and Hecate aches with how much she wants to wrap the woman up in her arms, kiss away her sadness and apologize over and over again. But that wouldn’t be fair. She knows that she affects Ada just as deeply as the blonde affects her, and she won’t have Ada forgive her just because she’s in a rush of pheromones and memories. So she waits, fingernails digging into her palms to keep herself restrained.

After a long, ugly pause, she cautiously adds, “You’re not stupid, Ada. I know that. I never—I never thought that. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to—to hurt you. I was just scared, and angry, and…”

Hecate is floundering, and Ada feels a pang of regret. She knows all this, but she knows that Hecate needs to say it out loud, too. So she waits, then she nods and says in a small voice, “I know, dear.”

The way she says _dear_ pulls Hecate forward again, before she can think about her actions. There’s forgiveness in the word, another invitation which Hecate needily takes. She’s standing behind Ada now, so close that she can feel the warmth of her body and smell the light notes of her perfume. Oh, she wants to touch her, to pull Ada into her in every way, to meld their sharp and broken pieces into something stronger and softer-edged and singular again, the way they’re meant to be.

Instead, she waits, quietly breathes, “I’m sorry, Ada. I’m so sorry.”

Ada knows how precious those words are, how high a price Hecate Hardbroom had to pay, just to utter them.

And she does the thing her mother could never do: forgive.

She nods quickly, trying to tamp down the tears in her voice as she admits, “I’m sorry, too. I do trust you, you know.”

“I know,” Hecate reassures her, warm and soothing.

“And I’m sorry, if I have made you feel—if you have ever felt that I didn’t. Because I do, I always have. I’ve never trusted anyone as much as I do you,” Ada is stumbling over her words now, shaking with adrenaline. If Hecate can pull down her pride and offer an apology, then so can she.

Finally, she turns back to face Hecate, and the relief spilling over those familiar features makes her heart break all over again—this time with relief of her own. She takes Hecate’s face in her hands, her tone still low and serious as she repeats, “I do trust you, Hecate. With my life. I just…I need to be able to trust myself as well.”

Hecate gives a small nod, shifting against Ada’s hands, eyelids fluttering as she marshals back more tears. “And I want you to trust yourself. But I do need you to actually listen, even if you don’t follow my advice.”

Ada is struck by her words. “Do you really feel that I’m not listening?”

Hecate blushes, averts her gaze. Still, she swallows, tries to be brave “Not always.”

For the first time, Ada notices the marks on Hecate’s cheeks. The light blush of blood, the cuts not deep enough to truly weep but still enough to break the skin. She pulls the woman into her, rising up on the balls of her feet to place kisses on the marks. Hecate shudders beneath her lips, her shaky exhale igniting a different kind of fire in Ada’s blood.

“I’m sorry,” Ada whispers, keeping her mouth close to Hecate’s skin, letting the heat of her words ripple over the marks. “I am listening, Hecate. Always. But I—I worry, too. About feeding your fear too much, about losing you to—”

Hecate pulls back, dark eyes tinged with pained compassion. Because this she understands, better than anything—the fear of not being able to save the one you love from their own destructive tendencies. She realizes with utter clarity that these weeks of feeling off-kilter and jarringly out-of-tune are actually another confirmation that they’re on the same page, as always. They’ve both been making decisions and putting forth arguments to save each other from themselves, running on fear and feeding the parts of their own personalities that the other is trying so desperately not to let win.

Ada stops, too shaken by the raw emotion in Hecate’s expression to finish her sentence. She sees the understanding in her lover’s face.

“You’ll never lose me,” Hecate promises fiercely. She’s pulling Ada into her now, her hands gripping the blonde’s hips with forceful certainty. And Ada knows it’s an unbreakable oath. Hecate Hardbroom is one of the most determined witches she’s ever met. Her heart is warm with certainty, a soft joy tinging the edges as she understands the rest of the promise, all that it implies. She wants nothing more than to give Hecate the same in return.

“And you’ll never lose me,” she replies softly, hands slipping down to the curve of Hecate’s shoulders.

Hecate’s eyes flicker to Ada’s mouth, and Ada’s chest swells as she lightly pulls Hecate forward, closer to her. That’s all the encouragement Hecate needs—her lips are crashing into Ada’s before she can fully register what’s happening. Ada sighs and Hecate hums in agreement, tongue slipping past Ada’s teeth with familiar ease. It’s been weeks of missing this, of touching with hesitation and feel off-centered, out of synch, and finally all the tension is gone, all that’s left is the good kind of ache and a sense of frenetic relief.

Then they’re tumbling, spinning around so that Hecate’s back is in the corner of the alcove, her lips still locked onto Ada’s as if her life depends on it, shivering and moaning into Ada’s lungs, a competing mixture of leftover fear, relief, and desire.

“You’ll never lose me,” Ada repeats again, lower but with more conviction. She takes a beat to simply look into Hecate’s eyes, to relay her seriousness. The brunette gives a small, stiff nod, and Ada knows that she’s truly heard her, truly believes her.

Oh, Hecate’s heart is still in her throat, entire body pounding at the way Ada’s eyes shine when they look at her—a look she thought was lost to her forever, just a few minutes ago. She believes this woman, believes her love and her words, but fear is still so great. Because Ada is brave and Ada is light, she keeps pushing forward and one day she might just get swept away.

Hecate wasn’t being dramatic when she said it was only a matter of time—the law of averages dictates that eventually, there will come a time when they cannot overcome, a time when Hecate cannot think of a clever trick to pull the proverbial rabbit out of the hat, a time when Ada’s own skills cannot keep her safe, a time when they cannot be saved.

_But not today_, she reminds herself. Today, tonight, they are safe, as safe as they’ll ever be. Ada is smiling at her, Ada’s hands are on her hips and Ada’s body is real beneath her hands, safe and solid and strong.

Ada finally understands, finally sees why this new facet of their relationship has brought out Hecate’s fear—she sees the love shining from the woman in front of her, can practically feel it rippling against her in waves, heavy and forceful like the sea. Love and fear, fear and love, how easily they slip together, one amplifying the other. But she trusts the strength of her own love, knows that it can overcome any fear that Hecate might feel, if only she remembers to give it all, to let it overwhelm the woman, from time to time.

Yes, they are still strong, still better together. This time, she knows it with full certainty, her sense of doubt nothing more than a fleeting memory—something remembered but not felt, just out of reach. Hecate keeps her safe; she keeps Hecate brave. That is their match, their best selves.

“I love you,” she finds herself saying.

“I love you, too,” Hecate’s breath hitches. Her left hand comes up to trace the outline of Ada’s face. “I love you and I’m sorry—”

“I know.” She also knows Hecate will punish herself for hours, if she doesn’t stop the woman.

But Hecate is surging forward now, pulling Ada into another kiss, still shaking as she pulls her mouth away, hands roaming Ada’s body as she continues, “I’m so sorry, I know—I shouldn’t have, I let fear and pride and hurt get the better of me—”

“We both did,” Ada reminds her gently. Her hands are operating entirely of their own accord, untucking Hecate’s blouse from her high-waisted skirt, slipping around to unclasp the belt corseted around her midsection. Hecate gives a small whine of approval, fully aware of what’s coming and eager for its arrival. “And I forgive you. I’m listening, Hecate.”

_I’m listening. _Two simple words and they’re all Hecate needs to hear—because Ada has heard her reasons, has understood her fears, has heard the contrition in her voice and the apology of her words, and has forgiven her, truly forgiven her, because she’s heard Hecate, truly heard her, heard her heart and her soul and has answered with an echo from her own.

Hecate’s body ripples under the words, under their meaning and all the love it inspires. Ada is kissing her again, kissing the little marks left by her fingernails, the damaged skin warming under the attention.

“I’m sorry, too,” Ada adds. She closes her eyes, says the thing that most needs to be said, the thing that Hecate must know, above all. “I value your opinion, Hecate. I _need_ you to help me see the other side of things. Please don’t ever stop telling me. Don’t ever stop lecturing me. I’m listening, I promise.”

_Don’t leave me, I’ll do better, I promise._ Hecate hears the undercurrent, understands the plea, feels it in the way her skin tightens in empathy. And it’s her turn to whisper, “I know. And I’ll never stop, I promise.”

_It’s alright, we’re safe, you’re safe, Ada, I’ve got you, now and forever. I’ll never stop loving you, I’ll never stop fighting for you, I’ll never stop, never stop, never._ Hecate pulls Ada’s hair gently, enough to angle the woman’s face so that she can plant a small kiss on her forehead, quick and soft and certain. _There. All better._

She’s smiling down at Ada with such syrupy-sweet affection that Ada can barely stand it. Ada’s hands are under Hecate’s blouse now, slipping up warm, soft skin and making Hecate shiver in response. Hecate’s hands are countering, slipping down Ada’s shoulders and pulling her closer, coming back up to nestle on the back of Ada’s neck as she brings the blonde into a kiss, deep and searching.

However, she pulls back slightly when Ada’s fingertips slip under the waistband of her skirt, “Ada, we should—”

“I don’t want to walk in here tomorrow morning and know that the last memory in this space was us fighting, or devolving into tearful messes,” Ada’s voice is lined with desperation, begging Hecate to stay, here, with her, both physically and emotionally. “I want the last memory to be—”

“Something good,” Hecate breathes, cupping Ada’s face with another soft smile. However, she glances slightly over her shoulder, towards the still very much open window. “It’s just—anyone out there could see.”

Ada is about to admit that Hecate’s right—as always, the woman is trying to protect her, even if it’s simply in regards to a reputation that Ada no longer cares about in the slightest. But Hecate’s hand stops her, rising above them to simply turn out all the lights in the room.

Even in the darkness, Hecate’s smile shines. “There.”

She’s pulling Ada back in for a kiss, and Ada can’t help smiling against her mouth. She resumes her earlier plan of action, fingertips trilling over the sensitive skin of Hecate’s stomach as she traces her way around the top of her skirt, unzipping the back and pushing it further down. Hecate’s making soft little whimpering sounds, her anticipation palpable as her fingers thread through Ada’s hair again, encouraging her to continue.

Ada’s hand starts at the small of Hecate’s back, slipping back around, thumb brushing lovingly over her hipbone before moving further down. Hecate’s shifting, trying to spread her legs wider but her skirt doesn’t allow for much—the wider her stance, the tighter it pulls and the feeling is both delicious and distressing. But Ada’s hand has room enough to slip between her thighs, flexing in delight at the wet heat she can already feel, soaking through Hecate’s underwear.

Out of instinct, Hecate’s right hand pulls tighter at Ada’s hair, bringing the blonde back into a kiss and muffling her moan against Ada’s lips as Ada pushes inside her, hot and sudden and electric. Her left hand slips down to Ada’s right, currently buried between her thighs, wrapping gently around Ada’s wrist, thumb stroking against the pulse point, encouraging Ada’s movements. Her leg jerks, wanting to lift and wrap around Ada’s hip, desperate to entwine as much as possible, but her skirt prevents even the slightest hint of such an idea.

Her hands seek to balance the situation, roving up to the top of Ada’s dress, shaking like a fiend in need of a fix as they work the buttons undone, slipping past to gratefully fill themselves with Ada’s breasts. Ada burbles in delighted approval against Hecate’s mouth, her fingers flexing and curling involuntarily inside Hecate, sending out sparks through her heavy hips.

Kisses become sloppy, frenetic, drunk and open-mouthed and reckless. Hecate’s mouth feels raw, the cuts from her nails also throbbing from the blood rush and the heat of Ada’s breath on her skin. Even her teeth feel numb, biting at Ada’s bottom lip again and again, pulling her back in, keeping her as close as possible.

Hecate’s hands stray further around, relishing the feel on Ada’s skin as they slip down her spine, grabbing her ass and pulling her in closer. Ada’s fingers curl harder, hitting the spot inside Hecate that makes her body jolt, head snapping back against the stone wall with a smack.

“Ah-ow!” Hecate winces and hisses at the pain.

Ada stops immediately, “Are you alright, love?”

“Ah-I’m fine,” Hecate’s body is still pounding with adrenaline, the warm tension in her hips a juxtaposition to the dull thud at the back of her skull.

“Perhaps we’ve…made enough of a memory here,” Ada suggests with a small smile. She removes her hand from between Hecate’s thighs, her smile deepening at the little whine and shudder her action produces. Still, Hecate nods in agreement, feeling perfectly secure at the way Ada's arm slips around her waist to steady her, other hand coming up to whisk them away to Ada’s chambers.

And Ada is absolutely right. Because the next morning, when they walk into the headmistress’ office for their usual morning meeting, Hecate’s glancing at that particular corner with shining eyes and blushing cheeks, and Ada feels a flush of warmth in response.

But it isn’t just about a lovely memory of their bodies coming together, they both know. It’s a site, a battleground conquered, a little marker of on the map of their love, a place and a moment where, for the first time as lovers, they overcame themselves.

It won’t be the last time they win, Ada knows. She knows, as deeply as she knows anything in her life, with the kind of certainty that settles into the bones, steady and unshakeable.

This is the last legacy they have from their mothers: they are overcomers. They do not break, even when they bow. They are as fierce as they are determined, and in this way, they are perfectly matched.

And that, Ada knows, is the way that counts.


End file.
